


The Quality of Silence

by xtwilightzx (blackidyll)



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/pseuds/xtwilightzx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Go isn't the only thing that requires two, Akira thinks. The shadow of loss and grief, and the secrets that spread their influence across everything Shindou does; he'll shoulder that, if Shindou would let him. And <b>sai</b>'s legacy; Akira will carry part of that too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quality of Silence

He finds Shindou sprawled out across the floor, asleep beside the goban in the living room. 

Akira breathes a sigh and sets his travel bag to one side, stepping quietly into the room. Even at a distance, he recognizes the shape of the game on the board, elegant and beautiful. Akira kneels briefly by the goban and takes a moment to appreciate what he has long memorized, then carefully crawls to Shindou's side, doing his best to avoid the overturned goke and the trail of go stones. 

Shindou had once again fallen asleep at the board, and a certain watchful part of Akira knows that it is after hours of studying that particular game. Akira can see it in his mind's eye; he knows the sight of Shindou's back, his head tilted, the subtle curve of his spine as he leans over the board, the clear ring of stones hitting smooth wood like the chime of bells at a temple. 

But now the room is quiet, the silence punctuated only by the sound of Shindou’s breathing, slow and peaceful. Akira feels his lips move of their own accord, a small, unbidden smile that he would never allow Shindou to see if the other were awake. Even so, Shindou has an uncanny way of discovering them and flashing bright grins of his own in response; Akira feels more at ease like this, where the only thing prompting him to guard his expressions is his pride and perhaps a bit of habit. 

Akira falls into seiza naturally, automatically gathering several scattered stones, and Shindou shifts as if sensing him there, turning slightly to face Akira, his hand and the white fan with its distinctive tassel falling into the space between them.

It’s a wonder Shindou hasn’t snapped the frame or torn the paper, the way he’s gripping the fan. But the only signs of wear are the way the wood shines, worn smooth and glossy from how often Shindou has it in hand, and the barest hint of fading in the paper. 

He reaches over and pries the fan gently out from Shindou’s grasp, discovering go stones between his fingers. And in the split second Akira spends staring at the stones, Shindou's hand snaps out and closes in a firm grip around his wrist.

Akira's gaze flies up, the beginnings of an apology on the tip of his tongue. But Shindou's eyes are closed, his breathing deep. Akira stays still for a long moment, and when Shindou does not stir further, tucks the fan in the crock of Shindou's elbow and watches Shindou's other hand come up, instinctively drawing the fan closer to his side.

The early morning light streams through the drawn blinds, thin bars of illumination picking out the go stones on the goban and in Shindou's hair, glittering like black and white gemstones against bleach-blond bangs. This close, Akira also sees the faint tear streaks across Shindou’s cheeks. 

Akira expects it – the game on the goban, the ever present fan, Shindou himself, but he still feels the ache like a faint pressure squeezing around his heart.

 _Tell me_ , Akira wants to say. _Shindou, tell me._

Go isn't the only thing that requires two, Akira thinks. The shadow of loss and grief, and the secrets that spread their influence across everything Shindou does; he'll shoulder that, if Shindou would let him. And **sai** 's legacy – Shuusaku's legacy? Akira can no longer discern the lines separating the two – Akira will carry part of that too. 

They are rivals, their go hopelessly entwined with each other; even if Akira stopped playing Shindou today, the surprising brilliance that has always been Shindou’s draw will linger in Akira’s go. He’ll hear the echo of Shindou’s footsteps behind him, his voice spurring Akira ever onwards. 

Akira looks down at Shindou's hand encircling his. Whatever resolutions Shindou has, Akira already shares it, whether Shindou knows that or not. 

“Shindou,” he says, then again, louder. 

Shindou’s eyes flutter, once, twice, and then they open completely, Shindou awake faster than Akira has ever witnessed before. Sleep had soften his expression, but awake, Shindou’s eyes hold the strange still intensity Akira has felt rarely, and only when Shindou is seated at a goban across from an opponent whom he absolutely cannot lose to. 

“Touya.” Shindou’s voice is surprisingly clear. His hand tightens around Akira’s wrist. “You’re here.” 

There is a barely voiced question buried in the way Shindou inflects his words.

“You gave me the keys to your apartment yourself,” Akira points out, but his words lack the distinct bite they usually carry. 

Shindou blinks slowly, his gaze drifting to the side and stopping. Akira aims a quick glance over his shoulder; there is nothing of interest there, only the shuttered window, but Shindou relaxes nonetheless. “You're back early."

"Yes," Akira says, and does not mention the conversations he had had to rearrange his schedule, putting in extra hours so he could opt out from the last day with grace, catching the first train back instead of the last train the night before to prevent the Association or any of his students from catching wind of his seemingly free day and booking his time. 

“Mm,” Shindou murmurs. He seems content to lie there and stare up at the ceiling or at the window instead of bouncing to his feet or interrogating Akira on his games, and Akira joins him in the silence, pondering on his question the way he would a move at a critical, decisive moment in midgame. 

But when it comes to Shindou Hikaru, Akira can only ever give chase. "Shindou, the game—" 

Akira could be referring to any number of them, but Shindou’s eyes flicker. The hand wrapped around Akira’s is steady, but the one holding the fan is restless, Shindou flipping the fan open a single flap, then closed, then open again. 

"He had always wanted to play your dad, you know. Since the very beginning.” 

Akira doesn’t need to look at the game spread on the goban behind him; the beauty of the shapes and the perfect balance of white against black would be enough for him to remember it even if he hadn’t known it was his father’s first and only game with—

"Sai." 

The name drops not like a smooth stone into water, rippling effects across the calm surface, but like a petal drifting in the wind, delicate, a lingering sight. He hadn’t meant to say the name aloud, but it feels safe to speak here, between the still morning and this odd tableau they are caught in, and Akira fixes his gaze on Shindou, refusing to break the strange tension of the moment. 

Shindou’s eyes are a deep, deep green, dark with the force of the emotions behind them. "Yeah." 

Akira draws a quick, hissed breath; his forte has always been in reading his opponent’s moves, sometimes gleaning their intentions before they even realize it themselves, and his connection with Shindou is such that that intuition applies off the goban. 

Shindou is waiting, expectant; if Akira asks, Shindou will answer, in a quiet, gentle tone as if he is worshipping at the god of go’s altar. There is the slightest wry pull to Shindou’s mouth, not at all a smile, but his eyes say it all: _someday_ , and it could be today if Akira wishes it. 

Akira sits there, still in seiza and surrounded by scattered go stones, his arm pulled forward half awkwardly by Shindou’s grasp, and for one overwhelming instant the thrill of finally getting to know Shindou’s secret takes his breath away. But his in-game focus snaps back and he lifts his gaze to meet Shindou’s, and in that moment he knows exactly what he will do. 

Shindou is like a tempest, a confusing, conflicting whirlwind wreaking absolute havoc on Akira’s structured life, but like the eye of the storm he is also capable of this, the moments of utter still clarity, as if he’s touched a higher truth and has internalized the memory of it. His thumb is pressed up against Akira's inner wrist, his heartbeat pulsing under that touch, but Akira is far more aware of the go-callused fingertips resting against the bones of his wrist. Akira's bangs are falling into his eyes, leaning slightly over Shindou as he is, but he doesn't reach up to brush them away. 

He doubts he'd get his wrist back without a scuffle, anyway. 

"Do you want to play a game?" Akira says, and hears Shindou’s breath hitch. That’s his own promise, returned; _someday_ , when Hikaru is truly ready, and before that revelation and for every day afterwards Akira will always want his go, together with the brilliant and utterly perplexing person who had crashed into Akira’s life and changed it completely. 

Hikaru stares up at him and his smile is small, almost fragile, but there all the same. His voice, when he speaks, is low and very clear in the quiet of the room. "Always."

He strokes his thumb across Akira's pulse point, doesn't let go, and Akira finally twists his wrist, sliding his hand free so he can grasp back, their fingers intertwining like pieces of a puzzle locking together.

Outside, beyond the window with their drawn blinds, the colourful carp-shaped koinobori flags flutter in the warm summer breeze.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Hikago Day ♥


End file.
